


The Dinner Date

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Dinner, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 20:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17474819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: Old piece of fic I posted on the kmm some ten years ago and never de-anoned on. (Just found it by chance.)Arthur enjoys his fancy places while Merlin does not.





	The Dinner Date

“We're going out on Friday night,” Arthur announced with a certain form of subdued glee that told Merlin he'd got something planned. Like that time he'd booked that para-gliding session just because he thought Merlin needed to have some fun and get out of his 'rut', as he'd called it. Merlin had an inkling things wouldn't turn out so well this time too. 

It was the loony smiles that did the trick. Arthur seldom smiled like that. Not unless he had something really weird to propose. 

And yet Merlin waited before reacting. Arthur, when he wasn't suffering from one of his stuck-up moments (and since he was the son of magnate Uther Pendragon his persnickety habits were sort of natural), was quite fun to be around. Merlin, who'd just started seeing him more often than usual, didn't have the heart to tell him he was deeply suspicious.

“Uh,” he said, eloquently. He reminded himself this was just an invitation even though it had taken the form of an order. “Okay, but I'm warning you: I hope it's something, you know, 'normal'. Or I'm not tagging along.”

“Whenever wasn't I normal?” a flabbergasted Arthur asked. 

Merlin had a long, long list to reference. So he did. “The Paragliding. The incident with the shark in Australia, the incident with Morgana in that Alpine cottage of hers that turned out to be yours.”

“It belongs to the family.” Arthur was protesting too much.

“The time you got drunk in a casino and the croupier thought you were cheating and the owner was affiliated with the Montenegro mob and I had to swear to a bunch of very muscular guys that you were just a lucky bastard.”

“It's not my fault card games are based on Maths and I'm fantastic at Maths,” Arthur spluttered.

“Every time I get tricked into Uther Pen dragon's presence.”

Arthur waggled his eyebrows, but conceded the point.

“The time I was introduced to Lord Mountbatten without previous warning while I was wearing jeans and my ratty DIY T-shirt!”

“Mountbatten doesn't really care.” Arthur totally missed the point. “You could have worn a frilly Can Can skirt and he wouldn't have noticed. Does this mean you won't come?” 

Arthur pouted.

Merlin let his list of grievances slide in favour of saying, “I'll come.”

Arthur beamed.

“Normal, Arthur!” 

It bore repetition.

****  
It was a castle. It was a veritable, neoclassic manor house of the kind Merlin had only seen only on the telly. The place also happened to function as a restaurant, again one of the kind Merlin had never seen in real life. The main hall itself was a Grade I listed property surrounded by multiple acres of rolling countryside. It had all the beauty and glamour of a traditional mansion while it offered all the advantages modern technology could supply. For example it was serviced by an heli pad of all things. 

Thankfully Arthur had chosen a more approachable means of conveyance and they arrived by car. 

Once he'd driven into the main courtyard – from where Merlin could spot the garden's fancy topiary – Arthur stepped out of his silver convertible and confided the car keys to the restaurant's valet. 

The latter, a man Merlin and Arthur's age, took them, bowed a little, a mere inclination of the head that was subtle yet deferential, and drove the car off.

“What's this, Arthur?” Merlin hissed under his breath as they walked up to the main entrance. 

Arthur loped ahead, while saying, “A dinner date.” He paused, waited for Merlin to catch up with him and added, “You said you wanted 'normal'. There's nothing more normal than dining out.” 

Merlin didn't know what to say to that. He was frankly taken aback. First, Arthur had mentioned this was a real, honest to God, date. While they'd trodden the fine line between friendship and something more, they'd never actually talked about what was going on between them. They'd taken one step at a time and tried not to define things. They just spent time together. Merlin liked Arthur, so this was good news. A date. And it was just like Arthur, dropping that item of news, as if it wasn't all that note-worthy. Merlin understood about the embarrassment factor, but he could have been a little more upfront about things. So that Merlin could adjust.

All in all the date part of the evening was good.

Yet this was so far from the desired 'normal', it was in a different universe. Merlin tried to point this out in a way that wasn't too harsh. “This isn't exactly average, Arthur.”

Arthur stuck his hands in his suit jacket's pocket, a fine, bespoke one that fit him atrociously well and made Merlin weak about the knees. “Isn't it what people who...” Uncharacteristically he hesitated, looking at his polished shoes and kicking one of the tiny little pebbles present on the gravelly walk. “...people who're going out together do. So I asked around and they said the chef here was fantastic. Used to work at the Waldorf Astoria, so I fancied that you'd like it and I booked...”

Smiling, Merlin shook his head. “The Waldorf Astoria thing should have tipped you off as to this place's nature.”.

“If it helps,” Arthur said, “I booked on-line. Nothing like having my PA or my father's do it for me. There was a tiny space in their form for special requests. I asked for a good table. On the net! Like a normal person.” He shrugged it all off and extended his hand to Merlin, inviting him to take it.

Merlin did. Though reluctant about the place, he couldn't say he didn't enjoy touching Arthur.

They'd had to walk up – still embarrassingly hand in hand – to the maître d' – who was standing behind a lectern upon which a huge leather tome stood open.

“I reserved a table. The name's Pendragon.” Arthur declared it with pride and the ease of a man who was used to this kind of thing. And hee didn't look fazed by the scrutiny Penguin Man, aka the maître d', was subjecting him to either. To be fair, it was Merlin the man was studying as if he had a sixth sense as to Merlin's humble origins. It was as if Merlin had the word 'plebeian' stamped in fiery red letters across his forehead. 

“Oh yes,” the Maitre d' muttered. “I can see that you reserved a table for two for nine o' clock.”

Arthur nodded. “I specifically asked for a table in an intimate corner.”

“Our main salon is the epitome of grandeur and sophistication and it's also the largest of our four dining rooms,” the Maitre d' said. “One of our senior waiters will escort you'll find your table there.” The Maitre d' had patently ignored Arthur. His request for an intimate table wasn't being accepted. Merlin didn't know which option would have been worse. Did he want to play the newly-minted love-birds in private or in public?

Arthur wasn't moved by the Maitre's words. Given the twitching of his jaw, he seemed rather ticked off by them. He suddenly morphed into his parent, or so it seemed to Merlin. The tone of his voice and the discontented lifting of his eyebrow matched Uther's to a T. “We don't seem to be on the same page,” Arthur said. “I want a memorable evening out and a decent table where I can talk to and entertain my partner here without having to rub elbows with other people or having my conversation overheard.” 

Merlin was currently both pleased by the use of the word 'partner', and a little miffed by it because Arthur hadn't consulted him about it. That wasn't the only feeling he had either. Arthur was scaring even him now. It was no surprise if the maître d' suddenly looked cowed.

“As you wish, sir.” He made a sign to a waiter, signalling that he should accompany Merlin and Arthur to one of their best tables. 

As the waiter strode forwards, Arthur and Merlin followed him along a sumptuous corridor that led past an astounding dining hall, which was fitted according to the neoclassical style and vaunted a large marble chimney piece. They then trailed the man into a smaller but cosier room. The walls here were panelled in real red oak that ran up to the ceiling. The latter was decorated with small panels of figures in relief. These weren't the only decorations. Oils on canvas were hanging in the niches, and a small fireplace was lending the room a soft glow.

It looked like a Tudor dining hall; if he so wanted, Merlin could cast himself in the role of Henry VIII. 

There was just one table in this dining parlour. And it was theirs. Merlin couldn't begin to imagine how much this would cost. A whole room to themselves.

The waiter beckoned two other servers. They waited for Merlin and Arthur to sit down and then filled their glasses; one with water, the other with wine. One for each. They subsequently stationed themselves behind Merlin and Arthur's chairs and, hands clasped behind their backs, stood like statues. 

So as not to think about the two Under Penguins there, Merlin concentrated on the way the table was dressed. 

A base plate was the main focus of the setting. A napkin folded to look like a bird about to take flight had been placed in its centre. 

There also were a variety of glasses. Crystal ones. Merlin only recognised two: the wine one, the wine inside being a dead give away, and the water one. He counted. In total there were four placed on the right upper side of the place-holder plate. They were artfully arranged in a fancy diagonal pattern. The top left glass was the only one Merlin knew about. Directly below that there was another one: it was distinctly smaller. At the top right there was another moderately sized glass. This one was elongated and a little taller. On the bottom right, there was a familiar looking glass: the one that had been filled with water. Finally something plain. 

Besides those there was a shiny array of silver flatware. A number of forks had been placed on the left of the central plate. On its right there were two knives, one of which had a peculiar blade, and a spoon. Perpendicular to the other utensils, above the plate, were another little fork and tiny spoon. A bread basket was set in the upper left corner, right close to the numerous forks. 

The tablecloth was of a dainty ivory colour and made of the finest cotton.

Merlin was at sea. He felt ill at ease. First and foremost he didn't know what to do with all that cutlery, especially the funny knife. He didn't like this one bit. “Arthur.” It wasn't a reproach exactly, but it was a very near thing. He wanted to go home and eat dinner in front of the telly. Chinese take-away sounded brilliant right about now. 

“What?” Arthur asked as he was being handed the menu. 

Merlin was given another copy of it, leather bound and thick. A wine list was added to the small volume that had been confided to Merlin. Prices: not listed. The names of the wines sounded foreign and exotic. And very, very expensive. There was no talk of going Dutch here. If he wanted to, Merlin would have had to sell his sofa, his laptop, and a few other things to boot. He couldn't say as much because the Penguins, who had retreated softly but were still ready to pounce to top up their glasses, might still be within hearing range. “This isn't what I had in mind...”

Arthur lifted an eyebrow but his eyes were glued to the menu. Gleefully he said, “I think I'll have the scallops with ginger and basil.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said again, flipping the menu's pages and reading the names of the dishes: blinis with caviare, tortellini _foie-gras des Landes_ , Lobster with jasmine rice and langoustine salad with lambs tongue bacon crunch. Merlin noted the many French, Italian, Japanese and Russian words that consistently turned up and made up a large part of the menu's culinary slang. Now he had a smattering of school French, but the rest eluded him.

“I'd try the sea-bass if I were you,” Arthur encouraged, as happy as a clam. “You like fish don't you?”

“That's not the point,” Merlin said in a low voice. “I don't know which fork to use first.” 

“Work your way from the outside in.” Arthur stayed nonchalant. “Or use the one you like best first. I'm not my father and I don't particularly care.” 

“The menu sounds like gibberish to me.” Merlin's face, he was sure, mirrored his confusion.

“There's plenty here I know you like.” Arthur sounded offended and a even little miffed. “Just give this place a chance. I'm sure that once you move past the façade...”

Merlin fumed. “The only reason people come here is because of the posh façade!”

Arthur put the menu back down on the table, a jarring gesture, and Merlin almost felt sorry. He was sure Arthur had been looking forward to eating the delicacies this place had on offer. And this place was his kind of normal, after all.

Nonetheless Merlin couldn't lie about who he was and how he felt. “You don't get me, Arthur.” 

Arthur's eyebrows drew together in a confused frown. “Is it because of what Will says about people with money? It's just good food, for God's sake.”

“No, it's not.” Good food was a slice of bread fresh from the oven or a tender chicken breast doused in marinade. This was an attempt at charging lewd sums for some bits of fish or meat bearing fancy names.

A smile got away from Arthur despite his worsening mood. “Which one is it not? Will's fault or just food?” 

Damn Arthur's charm. Merlin wanted to grin too, but he felt they were failing to get each other in a monumental way. Merlin wasn't used to this. Awkward didn't begin to describe how Merlin felt in such a place, a place where the waiters looked at him full of disdain, and to which he didn't belong. Arthur didn't understand what normal was. That ordinary people would have to work their arses off for weeks before being able to pay for a night out here and that most wouldn't waste their earnings this way anyway. 

And if there were these huge gaps between them, how could they get along in the long run? Merlin couldn't follow where Arthur was going, not without becoming something he wasn't. “I don't want to be your token boyfriend. I don't want you to pay for me. I don't.”

“Can I settle for just boyfriend?” Arthur asked, exuding charm. “It's okay. I invited you out. I'll foot the bill. I'm extremely happy to. I want you to have what you couldn't have before. I want to share. Don't be a spoilsport.”

Merlin sighed. “That's not the point, Arthur.”

“Come on!” Arthur was wearing another winning smile. “You can have a simple steak.”

“Arthur, can't you see?”

Arthur's expression simply meant that he couldn't.

“I'm not on a crusade against privilege.” Merlin didn't hate the rich. He just wanted them to show some basic decency and care for their fellow men. He decidedly liked a certain rich man of his acquaintance.

Your friend Will certainly is.” Arthur tinkered with the glass, his mouth thinning. “But then againhe just argues for the sake of arguing. And because he dislikes me.”

“You know he doesn't, really.” Will was just Will. Types like Arthur made him defensive. “But this isn't about Will. My problem here--” He gesticulated to indicate the choice of restaurant, “--is that it's beyond my day to day experience. In a nutshell, I feel like I don' belong.”

Arthur tutted. “Nonsense, Merlin.”

“Well, for one I can't afford this place.” Merlin pulled at a tuft of hair that was curling outwards. His hair in general tended to arrange itself in a very wayward fashion, one that didn't befit this place.

“It doesn't matter.” Arthur sounded long-suffering, as if this discussion was irking him because of its superfluity.

“It matters to me.” If Arthur didn't see that, Merlin wasn't sure they could do this.

“Why?”Arthur asked, clearly exasperated now. “I want to share. I'm lucky enough to be in the position to.” His face softened and with it his tone. “Why must you look a gift horse in the mouth? Most people I've known were on the look- out for exactly this.”

“I'm not most people.” Merlin didn't want Arthur for his money and position. If anything, they were obstacles.

“I know.” Arthur's expression sweetened and his lips turned up. He sounded very fond of Merlin when he talked on “You're more contrary than anyone I know.”

A little mischievous grin formed itself on Merlin's lips. “Someone's got to keep you in line and remind you that you lead a life of privilege.”

“And this random someone must tease me and yank my chain whenever he can, I assume.”

“I think...” Merlin tapped his lip “...that Arthur Pendragon can give as good as he gets.”

“Oh.” Arthur waggled his eyebrows. “I assure you he can.” 

And if it sounded a little lewd, Merlin attempted not to get all flustered.

“So are we staying?” Arthur eyed the dining parlour with regret, as if he was looking forward to the food as well as convinced Merlin was about to drag him out of it in a fit of pique.

Humming as he did, Merlin mulled about it. Principles or Arthur? Arthur looked at him and for a second there he wore the same despondent look Merlin's childhood Labrador had had on when he wasn't given a treat.

“Okay.” Merlin was ready for concessions. After all this was just one meal. Besides Arthur would be happy to stay and Merlin wanted Arthur to be as happy as he could be. As for the rest, he was sure he could persuade Arthur to donate something to charity to make sure some of his money was spent on good deeds as well as luxuries. Arthur would not only need little prompting but surely be generous with his donation. Arthur was a good sort like that. Decision made, Merlin braced himself with a gulp of the wine in front of him. It rendered him immediately tipsy, but that was good. It'd probably help to make him feel more at home in this posh place. Maybe. Fortified, he opened the menu.

Avoiding starters or anything that sounded like something he wouldn't like and had never tasted before sounded like a good plan to him. So he ended up ordering the sea-bass because the steak had fancy trimmings he wasn't certain he would relish. 

“Let yourself be surprised,. Arthur meanwhile ordering the scallops, and a mysterious risotto that blended fruit and aromatic herbs and veggies. 

Merlin snorted from behind the shelter of his napkin, then took to playing with it.

While they waited for their orders, they didn't make small talk. Merlin didn't know what to say. He was too busy taking in the dining parlour, the waiters' golden cuff-links, the way the table was arranged and the flames dancing in the fireplace. 

But then the steaming plates arrived and things changed 

Not caring about etiquette in the least, Arthur passed his food over to Merlin, made them swap bites of this and that, laughed about it, and used his fork and spoon to feed Merlin morsels of food. 

“Come on,” he said, “tell me this doesn't taste fantastic.”

Eliciting a glare from the waiter behind him, (and what, refined people just swallowed whole?) Merlin chewed, but he was too focused on Arthur's lovely face to care about the succulent flavours. 

The food was delicious, yes, but it wasn't what was making Merlin's heart beat that little bit faster. And it wasn't the flavourful wine that made him feel heady. It was Arthur, Arthur's joyful yet teasing expression. His down to earth way of sharing the food with Merlin. Not only that. He was genuinely appreciating tastes and textures. He was appreciating all of them with gusto. If food was said to be erotic, Merlin could now understand why. 

And when the time for the chocolate pralines came, well that was sweet, for Arthur popped one in his mouth, leaned over the table and finger fed Merlin the ones from his plate. When Merlin bit on,Arthur let his fingers trail over his lips, sweeping his thumb across the lower one.

The waiters might have been shocked. 

Merlin, for one, didn't care. “I say we move this somewhere else, but first you have to promise me something.”

Judging by Arthur's dilated eyes and addled expression, he was about to subscribe to anything as long as the evening panned out the way he wanted it to. 

“Next time I choose the venue.”

“Agreed.” Arthur's voice was hoarse when he said that. “Now let's go back to yours.”

**** 

Their next outing saw them on a Kentish beach, eating fish and chips out of a slightly greasy wrap. They were sharing the same towel, looking out to the sea. Because it was no longer summer, they had to wear jumpers and Merlin had thick woollen scarf on to better insulate him from the cold. The wind whipped at his hair and sand was flying into his eyes, making them water. Nevertheless, he was having a ball, the time of his life really.

“It's cold.” Arthur rubbed at his arms.

“Yes, it is.” Merlin acknowledged that with a smile. He was happy. He'd have been happy if he'd seen penguins toddling over to them.

Arthur harrumphed. “There's a distressingly situated mound of sand beneath my bum,” he said. “I don't see how you can find this okay.”

“I like it.” Merlin shrugged. “As long as I can have a bit of this,” he said, biting on a chip, “I'll come along when you plan one of your dinner events in fancy places.”

Arthur gazed at the far horizon and the setting sun. “You're brokering a deal?”

“Might be.”

To the accompaniment of Merlin's laughter, Arthur ruffled Merlin's hair. Out of the blue, he had Merlin in a headlock, drilling and rapping his knuckles on Merlin's scalp. “That's the kind of talk I understand.”

“I know that.” Merlin was secretly enjoying this. “So deal?”

“Deal.”

When the sun disappeared to let the moon shine bright, they kissed 

 

The End.


End file.
